


Make Me the Only Colour You See, Your One Distraction

by kahootqueen69



Series: Through the Bedroom Window [1]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Kiss, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Period-Typical Homophobia, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, this is my first fic i have no idea what i'm doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:33:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24813130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kahootqueen69/pseuds/kahootqueen69
Summary: Francis hasn’t been sleeping well, ever since he sobered up from the whiskey he’s been plagued by nightmares and restlessness. But he’s tired. He’s so tired of trying to find a way to survive this. The longer he looks at the maps, at that endless white nothing, he feels more desperate.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Series: Through the Bedroom Window [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1798666
Comments: 10
Kudos: 48





	Make Me the Only Colour You See, Your One Distraction

It’s dark. It’s always dark nowadays.  
There’s a single candle illuminating the maps splayed out on the table of the great cabin.

Francis stretches his back, grunting when his spine pops. He lifts the tumbler to his lips—the whiskey now replaced with two fingers of water—and knocks it back, setting the glass back down with a heavy thump.

He hasn’t been sleeping well, ever since he sobered up from the whiskey he’s been plagued by nightmares and restlessness. But he’s tired. He’s so tired of trying to find a way to survive this. The longer he looks at the maps, at that endless white nothing, he feels more desperate.

Francis’ eyes keep drooping closed, flinging open again the second he feels them closing. Rubbing at his eyes furiously in an attempt to stay awake, he’s startled by a knock on the door. He mutters a series of curses before calling them in.

The door slides open an inch, James’ head peering around the corner. He smiles, stepping into the great cabin and closing the door behind him.

'Ah, Francis!'

Francis turns his head to look at him, exhaustion clear on his face.

'James—'

'Francis? Are you quite well?' James interrupts him. Concerned at the look of him. 'Have you even slept for a minute at all?'

Francis falls back heavily in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face.

'I have, though it doesn’t feel like it.'

He looks back up at James, eyes tired and a dull shade of their usual bright blue colour. 'I can’t go on like this, James. There’s no way out.'

James eyes the maps on the table, shoulders slumping a little from their usual proud stance. _Just when he’s battled his demons, there are new ones to battle,_ he thinks miserably.  
He steps closer, pulling up a chair to sit in front of Francis. James thinks for a moment, biting on the inside of his cheeks, considering. He could just as well leave Francis to it, leave him to his melancholy. _That’s not right, not after all this. Not after trying so hard, after that gruesome withdrawal._  
James feels that all too familiar warm feeling in his chest, that admiration for Francis. His love for Francis that’s only grown after his abstaining from whiskey. The _real_ Francis.  
_I shouldn’t be doing this._ There’s a long silence between them, a consideration of things unspeakable outside of this cabin.

Taking a deep breath, James screws his eyes shut tightly before speaking.

'You needn’t battle this demon alone.' It’s barely audible, not much more than a whisper. His voice rough with uncertainty.

Francis looks at him, his eyebrows pinched, tongue darting swiftly over his tooth gap, not knowing what to make of this—what to do, or to say.  
James clears his throat, looks back up at Francis, fidgeting with his hands.

'—Francis?'

Francis blinks. His lips are moving but no sound comes out. He clears his throat, tries again.

'What—What do you propose?'

He shouldn’t do this, he’s had a man flogged for exactly this. But by God, does he want it.

'I’m proposing that we—' James takes a deep breath, swallowing harshly. 'I’m proposing we—'

Francis leans forward, takes James’ hands in his trembling ones.  
James is silent in an instant, big, hooded eyes looking into Francis’. He wets his lips, suddenly too dry in the cold of the cabin.

'Are you certain, Francis?'

'I’m—' He takes a deep breath. 'Yes.'

James gives him a small nod, giving Francis’ hands a gentle squeeze.

He gets up and moves between Francis’ knees, nudging them apart with his legs. James cups his cheek with a hand, thumb caressing the pockmarked skin. He falters—only for a moment—before leaning down and pressing their lips together in a kiss. Hesitant at first, but quickly developing into a more heated one.  
Francis parts his lips just slightly, a rush of warm breath flowing over James’ lips. He takes the opportunity and presses in, exploring Francis’ mouth with his tongue. He’s always wondered how that sweet tooth gap would feel under his tongue—now he’s got his answer. A rough moan forms in the back of Francis’ throat, vibrating through James.

James lowers himself onto his knees, his hands roaming over the backs of Francis’ thighs. Francis can only look at him in wonder, a blush creeping up his cheeks.  
James looks down at the bulge growing in Francis’ trousers, biting his lip at the sight. He runs his hands back down his thighs, hooking them behind his knees to pull him closer.  
Francis makes a small noise at the back of his throat, turning into a groan when James palms his erection. He brushes a hand through James’ long, wavy brown hair— _has it always been this soft?_ —while James busies himself with the buttons of Francis’ trousers. He tugs them down just slightly, along with his briefs. Francis hisses at the cold air rushing in, the head of his prick already an angry red colour in anticipation. James moans—almost indecently so—at the sight.  
He leans over the stiff prick in front of him, dropping a string of spittle on the head. Palming the base of his shaft, James starts slowly stroking him up and down, slicking Francis’ cock with his spit. Francis’ hand tightens in James’ hair when he feels his lips on him, suckling at the head. When James is done with playing at the tip, he closes his lips around Francis entirely, slowly going down on him. He presses his tongue against the bottom of his shaft, licking his way back up.  
Francis moans, letting his head fall back.

'Christ! James!—'

His sentence is cut short when James squeezes the base of his prick when going down on him again, making him stifle an indecently loud moan. He bucks his hips at the feeling, hitting the back of James’ throat. James manages not to gag and swallows down around him, keeping a firm hand in place on Francis’ hip.  
Francis’ grip in James’ hair tightens and loosens in a rhythm following James’ working of him. He makes all kinds of wonderful noises, gasping and moaning at each of James’ movements.  
Francis can feel the heat in his stomach building up, reaching its peak.

'James! Ah!—I’m going to—!'

He tries to pull James away, but James holds firm, continuing to work him over with his mouth and hand. It’s too much—Francis arches his back, his sight erupts in a blinding light and stars start swimming behind his eyelids. His hips stutter in their movement, spending everything into James’ loving touch. James keeps stroking him through his orgasm, swallowing down every last drop of him.

After a moment, Francis comes back to his senses—panting, breathing hard—and feels James lick his softening prick clean. James gets up as Francis is putting himself back in order, his own cock still hard and aching in his trousers.  
Francis wraps his hands around the back of James’ legs, pulling him closer towards him. He slides his hands up over James’ arse, giving it a generous squeeze. James bites his lip, wrapping his arms loosely around Francis’ neck as he pulls him down on his lap. He slides a hand between himself and James, undoing the buttons of his trousers while still kneading his bottom. James grunts softly and leans in to kiss Francis—a wet and sloppy thing.  
Francis slides his hand in James’ drawers and palms his already leaking prick. James hisses at the warmth of Francis’ hand, arching his back into the touch. He starts slowly tugging at his shaft, spreading the slick stuff over his cock and swallowing down James’ obscene moans in his mouth. When they break away to breathe, Francis takes his time in nipping along James’ jaw, moving on to suckle softly on his earlobe.  
James toys with the short hairs on the back of Francis’ neck and makes all kinds of appreciative noises at the kisses, gasping softly and humming into his ear.  
Francis picks up his pace, loving the murmured praise James is giving him. James starts bucking his hips into Francis’ hand—craving that sweet friction. He can feel he’s close, his whispers turning into moans and soft whines as he’s reaching his peak.  
When Francis starts to play at James’ slit with his thumb he knows he’s going to come, finishing in Francis’ capable hands with a loud moan, muffled by his shoulder.

Francis gives James a few moments to recover himself while cleaning him up and getting him back in order. Once James has gotten his breath back he cups Francis’ face with both hands, pulling him in for a searing kiss.  
When they part James presses their foreheads together, breathing in the other for a moment.

'I should start the trek back to _Erebus._ '

'James, it’s far too late.'

'But the crew—'

'—The crew will understand your staying the night after a long and exhausting meeting.'

Francis raises his brow, looking at James with a fond expression. A small smile tugs at the corners of James’ lips.  
He gets off his lap and holds out his hands for Francis to take, pulling him upright with a soft grunt from Francis. He lets him lead him towards the Captain’s berth and together they change into some nightshirts. They lay down into the cramped space—tangled up in each other’s arms and legs—and it’s not long before Francis is snoring softly, and James falls asleep to the sweet scent of Francis’ soap.

Tonight, all is well.

**Author's Note:**

> This is me rewriting an awful fic I wrote shortly after watching The Terror for the first time (almost two years ago, I think! Wahoo!)
> 
> I'm not much of a writer, so please excuse my possible lack of imagination or creative writing lol. I do hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, though!


End file.
